


i could (never) change

by damselindisguise



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Crime Fighting, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damselindisguise/pseuds/damselindisguise
Summary: Cole North might have more in common with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen than he cares to admit.Canon compliant through end of Daredevil (2019) #13.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock/Cole North
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	i could (never) change

The bass from the club two blocks away is making Matt's migraine worse as he trudges down the sidewalk, tapping his long cane against the concrete and keeping his head down. His senses have been so awry lately that he isn't sure he'd be able to walk in a straight line if he focused on anything else right now, and yet he still finds himself listening in to the world around him, taking in information like he's going to do anything about it, really.

He quit being Daredevil a few weeks ago now. Something like several. He's not sure. All he knows is this: he's been wearing a white scarf on his face and tucking his clothes tight around himself to continue to fight crime, only it hasn't been going as good as it used to, and he keeps almost dying, or at least almost accidentally killing people in the service of not dying. 

Being saved by Frank Castle had been a kick in the gut enough, aggravating his already bruised sense of self from the accidental death of the criminal at his hands, but when Elektra had saved him and begun training him, he had felt like he was at an all time low. With her 'homework' telling him to find a way to focus his powers. Yet, he finds himself so very unfocused that he's unable to even control where his mind wanders to as he walks through the cracks in the skin of his beloved city, listening to distant cries that he can't answer in his current state that echo tinny underneath the throbbing shout of the damn music...

Matt considers crawling into a dumpster and waiting for morning. It wouldn't be the first time he- like Clint- had spent a night in such a location. It would just be a new low for Matt Murdock to do so instead of Daredevil. He decides that he's not willing to go to those extremes yet, and continues his walk. He's almost to the end of the street when his disjointed senses refocus behind him, on the scent of cheap whisky, cigarettes, and gun oil.

"Frank," he grits his teeth in greeting, turning his head slightly to get the sound of the Punisher's heart to resound steadily off of his eardrums; it's a steady, slow beat. Frank's not here to fight, or it would have picked up at Matt's having noticed him; not to mention, he's fairly sure that Frank wasn't that concerned with the truth of his identity, since his stunt with the Purple Man's children erasing everyone's memory of his true self hadn't affected their relationship whatsoever. 

"Choir boy," Frank says, and that's all that Matt needs to tell him that the other man definitely knows, now, who the Devil of Hell's Kitchen really is- or was. He keeps listening to Frank's heartbeat, and then, when the Punisher moves, leather creaking overtaking the staccato sound, he smoothly loops his arm through the crook of the larger man's elbow and links them together.

A grunt comes from the man beside him- neutrally annoyed, not really feeling one way or another about the motion other than that it's a surprising inconvenience, if Matt had to hazard a guess. 

"What do you need?" the former Daredevil asks, voice low enough that he knows only Frank will hear him, instead of the passerby on their phones. He can sense the pixels, can feel the gentle static on the screens all up and down the boulevard, like it's crawling on his skin. He shivers faintly, and tries to keep himself centered on the man beside him instead of losing himself in the stimuli his powers are no longer allowing him to properly control the filters for. 

"That was a stupid thing you did, taking the cop you boxed in the street to get coffee," the Punisher scolds him without hesitation. "Are you trying to get yourself arrested?"

"North could be an asset to this city," Matt defends himself. "He's got a moral code stronger than most. Hell, definitely stronger than yours or mine."

"Well, I never claimed to be any kind of a paragon," Frank says, "unlike you. Still, doesn't change it was stupid. What makes you think he's not going to go running back to the department and describe Matt Murdock to them, choir boy?"

"I have faith," Matt grins, feeling himself slipping into the old rhythm with Frank. It's a comfortable one, and one that he's sure his fellow vigilante is going to find it all the more easy to adopt, now that they're open with one another again. He presses his fingers flush to the swell of Frank's bicep through the leather jacket and feels him tense. 

"Well, if you need my help, I'm one call away," the Punisher says. "I can lend you a shirt again, sometime."

If that's Frank's attempt at flirting, Matt's willing to take it. He turns and stops the other man with a hand before saying, half-loving and half-long-suffering, "Frank, cut the shit. We both know why I stole your shirt."

"You needed something to wear?" Frank suggests, but Matt can feel the way his smile tenses his skin against the air, drawing it tighter against that strong jaw and crinkles it around his eyes. Castle has changed, in some ways. In other ways, he hasn't.

"It smelled like you," Matt suggests. "Familiar."

Frank kisses him. It's warm and, as Matt said, familiar. Frank tastes like cheap alcohol and cigarettes, with just a hint of stale coffee. Matt savors it; he's tired of tasting this city's grime on his tongue, thick in the back of his throat as he takes in its smog and tries to spit something resembling air back out to help them. As familiar as that is, it's not familiar in a way he likes. He knows it's impossible; that's why he forgets it and focuses on this instead, the way whisker-lined lips feel against his own similar pair as their beards scrape together audibly and Frank takes him by the arms to deepen the kiss.

"Yeah," Frank agrees. "Familiar. That's the right word."

Then he disappears into the cacophony of the surrounding world, and Matt is alone again. 

~

Matt ties the white scarf around his head, zips up the hoodie to break the wind against its smooth fabric, and then takes off running down the alleyway, barely making the jump that takes him onto the dumpster and then almost missing the fire escape he clambers up to reach the roof. He tosses his long cane over his shoulder and listens to it clatter back to the ground as he bolts across rooftops, twisting and turning to avoid obstacles that rise out of an imperceptible murk as he runs. They're more unexpected than they used to be, lost in a kind of sensory overload forming a dim din in his image of the world.

Still, he reaches Elektra in what currently amounts to record time, and she's watching Cole North when he does, so he kneels beside her in silence and lowers his head, shutting his eyes behind his mask in an entirely symbolic gesture of focusing his senses. Still, he imagines he can hear her better, can hear North better. 

"Who is he?" Elektra asks.

"A detective," Matt says smoothly. "He was a problem, but now he's a friend. I think with the right pressure applied, he could even be an asset."

"Another vigilante," Elektra says immediately.

"Not hardly," Matt snorts. "He hates vigilantes; he still isn't sure about not turning me in, actually, I'd wager."

"No," Elektra shakes her head. "He could be a vigilante. He has the right stuff. Frustrated with the system, on the outs with society... He's a trained fighter, and he's tough as nails. You chose well, after all."

"Frank Castle doesn't think so," Matt wards off her examination of his potential ally.

"Frank Castle doesn't think so?" Elektra asks, derisive. "Since when do you care what the Punisher has to say about anything?"

"He's not all bad," Matt turns back forward, and frowns down at the street, now taking in scents; Cole's cologne, something with cedar notes making up the majority of the body, and his aftershave, the same brand. He's wearing a lot of it, clouding anything else from view, and so Matt resorts to listening in on him instead. 

He's talking on the phone. "No, Ma, I didn't lose my job. Yes, Ma, I know this is how I lost my last job, but- it's not going to happen again."

"He's talking to his mother," Matt relates to Elektra, who sighs loudly. She turns around and paces across the rooftop, boots silent despite their weight, before turning back to face him, brandishing the steel staves on either side of herself before tossing one to him. He manages to catch it, and flourishes the motion to hide that he almost dropped the weapon on the ground in the process. 

"Tell me more about Detective North," she demands, and then leaps into combat.

He deflects her first blow effortlessly, but the second lands behind his ankle. He pivots and twists into the air, landing on his back stride and nearly going off the edge of the roof. He slides out of range to one side and swings his staff in, deadening Elektra's right arm and earning himself a breather to speak to her instead of try to stay alive.

"The police force put him on leave. He's willing to do what it takes to help people, even when he's not doing it as an officer... you might be right about him being a potential ally in the vigilante sense, instead of just on the beat."

"You're so right," Elektra smirks. He can feel the turn in her lips kick the air up under her right eye, send it careening in curls against her curlier hair. He thinks it's gorgeous, the way that slight gesture alone sends such an affecting change through the atmosphere. 

Elektra charges back in. He fights her off easier this time, now that she's working with one arm for the moment. He ducks and leans, dodging her first blow, and sweeps her legs before leaping over her counter. She rolls back onto her feet without halting after the fall, and knocks his staff aside with her own, forcing him to flip over her next swing. She catches his arm and drags him back from the edge. 

Now, he feels her frowning. It's just as beautiful, the way that makes the air curve downwards, forming a shallow cavern growing in the wind. "Go get Detective North," she says. "We all need to talk."

~

Cole is sitting on a bench and rubbing his temples, just having hung up the phone, when he's approached by none other than Matt Murdock for the second time in a week.

"You again," he says flatly.

"Me again," Matt confirms. "Come with me. There's someone I'd like you to meet, Detective." The word 'Detective' sends a pang into the other man's stomach that causes his abdomen to tense, his fists to clench.

"North is fine," Cole dismisses the offending pleasantry. "Or Cole, if you'd prefer. Either way, what do I have to lose? Lead on, Murdock."

As stated, the former Mayor of New York City leads the former Detective into a building a few doors down and across the street, then up a flight of stairs and out onto the roof. A woman stands a few paces from the edge of the roof and a few paces from the threshold of the door, midway between. Cole recognizes her immediately as Elektra, the assassin Daredevil was known to sometimes associate with, based on her shining black mane of hair and her strikingly bronzed olive skin. She doesn't have her signature sai with her, but she is wearing her red leotard that looks more like a dress, which he privately feels is impractical for such tasks as hers.

"What is this?" he asks.

"This is Elektra," Matt says patiently.

"I know who this is, I'm asking what is going on," Cole says, just as impatient as Matt was the opposite.

"We think you have potential," Elektra says, turning fully around now and stepping in between he and Murdock. "Potential to put this city back on the right path, and to begin to set things right in many different areas. It's clear now that Matthew can no longer be Daredevil- even if he wanted to be, he's been forbidden by the rest of the community he previously coexisted with. He can be a vigilante, but never again the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"What's the difference?" Cole asks, gesturing at Murdock's get-up; a snug hoodie zipped to his throat so that the zipper points like an arrow to his Adam's apple, a pair of loose joggers that hug his body's curves, and running shoes half-off the ground in preparation to run. The former Mayor's got a scarf streaming from one hand, the same white one he wore at the station when he was fighting on Cole's behalf.

"Daredevil was a symbol," Elektra says.

"A symbol people feared," Matt agrees. "Daredevil doesn't kill, but he's still the Devil. People fear the Devil, by nature. There always needs to be a Daredevil. And... Cole, we want you to be Daredevil."

"Daredevil's scorched Earth," Cole shakes his head. "Ask the Punisher, if you need one so bad. There's already a kill attached to the name, so why not tack on a few more? Would that really be so damaging?"

For a moment, the pair of vigilantes are silent. Then, Matt turns his head to 'look' at Elektra, despite Cole knowing that Murdock is a blind man. Being that he's not sighted, the gesture is entirely symbolic; Matt is deferring to the woman's choice.

"If you refuse, so be it," Elektra says, "but you must remember that you're leaving this city without one of its defenders. You're leaving Hell's Kitchen to drown in blood- one way or another."

Cole turns to leave, sure that's enough, but finds himself rooted to the spot once he's got his back to the crime fighters. Then, he turns back to face them, and glowers, looking at them from under low brows before speaking again, making a decision he's sure he'll come to regret.

"I'm not saying I'll be Daredevil," he starts. "You can train me, though. Right?"

"That's what I'm here for," Elektra confirms. 

"Then train me," Cole says, "and when I'm ready, then I'll decide. But don't get your hopes up."

~

Elektra texts him an address, and he goes. It's the middle of the night, and he's wearing a tank top that's loose from use at the gym and a pair of sweatpants and feeling utterly stupid, so he's about to call it quits and leave the warehouse he finds empty upon arrival when they appear. 

Dressed in all black is the Punisher, a few paces behind the pair. He's in a short-sleeved shirt like the one Murdock had worn, adorned with the skull in bright, fierce white. Murdock is in a red track suit and carrying his scarf, running it between his hands like he's trying to get something off the fabric. Elektra is, of course, in all red, as always. 

"You brought the serial killer," Cole comments, when they reach him.

"Oh, good," Frank says. "The new guy's a preachy asshole. Murdock, wrap it up- you've found the perfect replacement already."

"Quiet, Frank."

"North," Elektra says, and drops a bag, unzipped, in front of him. "Choose your weapon."

"My fists," he says. "I don't need some fancy staff. I've got knuckles. That's all I need."

"What God gave him," Matt shrugs, and backs up a few paces. Elektra throws him a steel staff before brandishing dual wooden rods. A moment later, the two are a blur, dancing in tandem with one another. The motions are fluid and artful, truly living up the second half of the phrase 'marital arts.' 

Castle steps back and walks in an arc around the pair before standing next to Cole and nodding his head at them. "Impressive, isn't it? Guys like you and me aren't fast like them- so I'm your trainer. We're going to focus on getting you up to speed on what we're good at."

"I know how to punch."

"There's a lot more to fighting than a punch," the Punisher says. "You're a boxer. You know there's more than one form- and by the time that I'm done with you, you're going to know them all, or else you'll going to be dead and gone soon after."

Cole shrugs and kneels, digging in the bag he brought and pulling out his boxing gloves. He's already wrapped his hands, so all he has to do is strap into the garments and then he's ready to go. Castle's got on his own pair of gloves, and he's staring at Cole expectantly, still as a statue with eyes as dark as slate.

"Get started," Matt says, from a pause in his fight with Elektra. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, Cole."

"Yeah, yeah," the former Detective says, bouncing from foot to foot, and then he lurches forward and throws a fist at the Punisher. The Punisher immediately catches his arm and flips him over his head, throwing Cole down on his back and knocking the wind completely from his lungs. 

"Going to have to be faster," Castle says, and paces a few steps away before turning back to face Cole and wait for him to rise again so that they can continue. The latter grits his teeth, presses his gloves to the hard ground, and pushes himself up to his feet before putting his dukes up.

"Bring it on, Castle," he says, hoping he looks threatening. 

Castle just laughs, starts stalking forward, and then tucks low to throw fists into Cole's gut while he forgets to lower his guard.

~

Weeks pass like this, training with the Punisher and periodically sparring with Matt. He never fights Elektra; she's the pinnacle of the three of them, capable of laying out even Murdock when he's moving fast. Cole, in his own right, is good, but he's sure he'll never be that good. 

One night, Castle and Elektra leave quicker than normal, and Matt and Cole are alone. The former Daredevil sheds his track jacket and ties it around his waist before beginning to wring out the scarf he'd been wearing as a mask during the training session, turning to face Cole and center his attention on the former Detective as he unwraps his hands from the sparring. 

"You're getting good," Matt says, leaning against one of the pillars in the abandoned building they'd been in this time. "Frank thinks so, too. He told me so."

"You two get drinks or something?" Cole cuts his eyes to the redhead, his statement neutral, existing in a place between mocking and genuine questioning. He doesn't understand the nature of Murdock and Castle's relationship- the two of them seem to be so totally different from one another that they should be fish out of water in each other's worlds, but instead they take to each other like paint to canvas, a decisively well-paired duo.

"We used to date," Matt says. "We got drinks a few times, since all of this started, but... I don't know. Frank and I have always been casual. We're both aware that hot and heavy isn't going to work for us. We're too different, and he exists in the past, anyway. Don't tell him I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Cole says, tossing the wrappings from his hands into his bag and taking a seat next to it, framing his knees with his arms and examining Murdock. He feels unusually seen for the fact that Murdock is not a sighted person, and shivers faintly at the realization that the man probably does, in fact, know more about Cole's current state than he knows, himself. He probably can hear the beat of his heart slowing down against his ribs, probably can smell the lactic acid settling in his thick muscles, probably can hear the shifting of air pockets between bones that will pop later when Cole flexes his back before he gets in the shower.

"What are you thinking about?" Matt asks, sudden.

"Uh, why?" Cole answers lamely.

"Your heart slowed down," the former Mayor answers. "I was just... interested. Whatever it was, it calmed you down."

Cole's surprised by that- he hadn't noticed it, but Matt's right. Maybe it was just refocusing his mind on something other than the workout and letting his body regulate itself, but he's calmer now, and about ready to head back home.

"Say," Matt says, after a moment of silence. "Do you want to get a beer? I'm buying."

"Sure, why the hell not," Cole grunts, and pushes himself to his feet, straightening up and looking down at Murdock for a moment before setting out for the exit.

Of course, because nothing is quite normal with Matt and company, they end up at the vigilante's apartment instead of at a bar, where Matt pops the top off of two bottles of some German brew and passes one off to Cole before sipping his own. They're silent for a while, just taking pulls from their drinks in each other's company. It's surprisingly comfortable, for how Cole and Matt might have been at each other's throats upon their first meeting, boxing in the streets surrounded by the rest of the police force just before Castle had opened fire on them. 

Then, Matt sniffs the air, and Cole stiffens, remembering that the other man has enhanced senses, and he stinks of sweat from their hard workout that night. 

"Sorry, man," he says. "I reek, but it's got to be even worse for you. I'll get going, yeah?"

"I've got a shower," Matt says, and his eyes, now uncovered, are aimed out the window, but his ears are aimed at Cole, which feels signifiant, somehow. Matt's nostrils flare again, and Cole feels self-conscious for a moment.

"I don't want to impose," he starts.

"Nonsense," the former Mayor dismisses the thought out of hand. "You're fine, Cole. It's no imposition at all. You can get a change of clothes from the closet, and you can have another beer. I'll be here when you get out. Trust me, I won't let anyone get the jump on you."

Cole wonders what that's supposed to mean, and then decides to think nothing of it. He walks to Murdock's closet and gets out a tank top similar to his own, if a size smaller, and a pair of thin pajama pants. He heads to the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself, turning on the water and letting steam begin to curl through the curtain as he undresses, peeling his clothes away from his sticky skin. 

He steps in and is not surprised to learn that Murdock uses scentless soap. With a rough touch, he lathers up his hair and his beard. He scrubs himself all over with the soap, though economically, not wanting to be a rude guest and waste Matt's materials. When he feels sufficiently clean, he rinses himself off, turning his face up towards the shower head and letting the steady stream spray across his features and cleanse his body fully of the suds. He rubs the shaved sides of his head to make doubly sure there's none left, and then switches the water off, climbing out again and dressing.

Matt's clothes are small on him- not comedically so, but enough it's noticeable. It's sensible, given that Matt is a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter easily, not nearly the heavy bruiser than Cole is in shape. They're both strong, but in different ways. Cole smooths Matt's tank top against his abdomen and shrugs his shoulders to make sure the hem doesn't ride up. It does, anyway, showing his midriff, a little bit of his happy trail, so he tugs it back down again and resolves not to raise his arms too much.

When he returns to the kitchen, feet slapping bare against the floor, Matt's already got another beer waiting for him, having sensed him getting out of the shower and exiting the bathroom. Cole takes it gladly and sits down, taking a long pull before staring at the redhead.

"How did you get your powers?" he asks, after a moment. It's all that comes to mind, and it feels normal, like something anyone would want to know upon meeting someone with the kind of abilities that Matt has.

"A chemical truck was going to hit an old man," Matt says, easily. "I pushed him out of the way, and it crashed. The chemicals splashed in my eyes and blinded me, but they also unlocked something else inside of me, enhancing the rest of my senses. I've been like this ever since."

Cole hums in understanding and sips his beer. He wonders what all of that was like- it had to be horribly disorienting, and unbelievably terrifying, all of the changes and growing pains that Matt had to experience in the process. He's not sure he could have survived that- after all, he barely managed the change of coming here to New York City from Chicago, and look how long that lasted, anyway.

"When you're ready for bed," Matt says, "there's a basket of blankets by the couch, and two pillows on the chairs. I'm going to go ahead and turn in."

"Okay," Cole says. "Goodnight, Matt."

"Goodnight, Cole," Matt murmurs, and then crosses the room to climb onto the bed. He splays out. Within minutes, the silence becomes cloying, and Cole decides to go get some air. He heads for the door, and opens it to find Frank Castle on the other side, hand raised to rap his knuckles against the surface.

"Huh," Castle grunts after a moment of them staring at each other. "Hey, North. You hanging out with Murdock tonight, then?"

"Apparently," Cole says, now realizing that it's a little strange feeling, having a sleepover with a man he doesn't know outside of training to be a vigilante, of all things. It feels right, somehow, too, though, and he doesn't want Castle here to interrupt that.

"Okay," Castle waves off. "Tell choir boy I came by. See you at the next training session, North."

"Have a good night," Cole says, and watches Castle go.

~

When Matt wakes the next morning, he can sense Cole sleeping on the couch. He's wearing Matt's clothes, and the tank top has rode up his abdomen in the night. It's bunched at the middle of his stomach, against hard, chiseled muscle, and there are rough, curly hairs on his skin that the air drifts through in spiraling tunnels. It dances in waving hills across his sculpted body before whispering over the fabric of the tank top. Matt wonders why he's paying so much attention to this, but can't tear himself away, either, can't get control of his senses again.

Cole's skin is warm enough it's almost feverish, underneath the blanket he's got wrapped around himself in a kind of ribbon of plush fabric. His whiskers brush and catch audibly on the fabric each time he breathes in and out. He sounds strong- healthy. He smells like Matt's soap, but also like cedar cologne and aftershave that wasn't entirely washed away. With some of it gone, though, Matt can get his more personal scent- a mixture of some variations of Thai food from a place Matt knows a few blocks away and milkshakes- strawberry and banana. Matt can almost taste them, now, and he finds himself setting out to buy milkshakes before he can stop himself.

When he returns, Cole is sitting up, scrubbing a hand across the unshaven top of his head, callouses shushing between the short, dark strands. Matt can almost hear the thrum of colors, sometimes, and right now he can, can feel the vibrations of the wavelengths of the white and red of the shades on the bag he's carrying with Thai food in it. 

"Is that Thai?" Cole asks, brow lowering- it shifts the air like a brick, sending out a shockwave of feeling that pangs in Matt's chest. He sets down the bag as Cole rises and walks over, each slap of his feet a thunderclap of oddly hospitable noise to the former Daredevil's ears. 

"Yes," he says. "Thai, and milkshakes. Strawberry and banana."

"My favorites," Cole says. "You know, Matt, you're full of surprises."

"Thank you," Matt says, hoping Cole doesn't think he's some kind of a creep now. He hadn't even considered anything but being kind and getting closer to the other man when he had made the snap decision to go and retrieve the two items. 

He passes Cole one styrofoam package and opens his own, deftly maneuvering his fingers around silverware and sliding some to his guest before digging in. They eat in silence for a few minutes, taking drinks of milkshake every few bites.

Cole suddenly stops eating, and sets his arms against the counter. "Matt," he says. "I judged you too harshly, at first. You didn't mean to kill that guy, and you've only ever been trying to do the right thing. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Cole," Matt says, feeling like his lungs are swollen with air at the sudden admonition from his friend- he hopes he's not overstepping thinking of Cole as his friend.

"Well, I am," Cole says. 

"Thank you," Matt says, after a moment passes.

"Sure," Cole says, and starts eating again just like that, as if he hasn't just dropped something on Matt that's made his whole world go spinning out of alignment- and it's not all bad, either. Somehow, Cole telling him he knows he didn't mean to do it- didn't mean to kill anyone- takes some of the burden off of his shoulders in a way he hasn't felt since that very night in front of the convenience store.

Matt smiles, and follows Cole's example, getting back to his Thai.

~

They fit him for the costume two weeks later, and Matt takes him back to the apartment for celebratory drinks. Cole looks at himself in the mirror in the bathroom with new eyes after taking a leak, returning to the living room feeling oddly radiant as he thinks of the leather mask moulded to his skin, the way his eyes stared crimson in the blade of Elektra's sai as she stood there watching Matt take his measurements. 

"You're a lot bigger than me, Cole," Matt says, his fingers running across the old costume thoughtfully as he drapes it across his lap. "There'll have to be a lot of adjustments made. But that's good. There's people who would want to be sure it's not me out there, again. Without that problem, we've already scratched one thing off the list."

"Matt, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm black," Cole laughs. "No one is going to think I'm you in that cowl, man."

Matt laughs with him and sets the suit aside, patting the couch beside himself. Cole goes and joins him, taking a seat and clinking his bottle against the former Mayor's when he holds it out for such. They each take a long drink from the necks of their bottles and then sit back against the couch. Cole props his arms on either side of himself, elbows on the back of the furniture as he stares at the room with a satisfied kind of small smile on his face.

"So, how are things with you and Frank?" Cole asks Matt after a few minutes of quiet.

"Oh, Frank and I are calling all of that quits," Matt says. "He figured now that you and I are spending so much time together, it would be inappropriate for us to continue our relationship."

"Now that we're spending so much time together?" Cole inquires, feeling himself flush with warmth. The very thought that someone thinks he and Matt are that close is striking in a few different ways, not the least of them... flattering?

"Well, you did indicate to him that we spent the night together," Matt points out. "I figured you'd eventually make a move once you started acting like we were dating, but since you haven't yet... or did you not realize?"

"I didn't realize," Cole says, feeling a little foggy as he's struck with the realization- he's been spending a lot of hours with Matt every week, drinking with him and walking around the city together and eating cheap Thai food and drinking thick milkshakes across from each other. He also definitely sent Frank away because he was already there with Matt, and he distinctly remembers the feeling of it- of being oddly, jealousy proud of being the one spending the night there with the former Daredevil instead of the other man.

Matt frowns. Cole doesn't like that, so he quickly course corrects.

"I'm not upset," he says. "Who would be? You're quite the catch, Murdock." The former Detective sets his beer on the table and turns to take one of Matt's knees in one of his big hands, pushing it gently aside so he can scoot closer to the other man. He reaches up and removes the red-tinted glasses Murdock's always wearing from his face, placing a hand on the back of his head among his red hair. 

"You think so?" Matt grins, almost looking sheepish. 

"I know so," Cole says, and kisses Murdock, who tastes a little like beer, but mostly like sour candy and lemongrass. He doesn't have a scent, but Cole's okay with that. Soon enough, Matt is just going to smell like him.

~

Six months later, they've settled into a comfortable routine. In the day, Cole works his comfortable desk job, and Matt works as a parole officer, keeping his clients on the straight and narrow with gentle assurance, while the former does plenty of paperwork to pass the time. In the evenings, they eat takeout together at the apartment they share- Cole's apartment, because they decided that Matt's held too many memories for the former Daredevil, when it was time for new ones. 

In the night, Matt stays home and runs radar, keeping Cole updated on what needs to be done as he runs around the city in his leather costume, fighting crime. Frank Castle sometimes crosses paths with him, and usually he's courteous enough not to kill whenever he works with the Devils of Hell's Kitchen. Elektra leaves town most weeks, but she always comes back sooner or later, and Cole is glad to have her around. He still has a lot to learn. 

But when morning comes- when morning comes, Cole is back home, loving Matt in their bed together, and Matt tastes a little like the beer he drank while he kept watch, but mostly like sour candy and lemongrass. Despite them both showering with scentless soap, he smells like Cole, like cologne and aftershave tinged with cedar, but, lately, primarily like Thai and milkshakes. Cole's good with that- more than, in fact.

As it turns out, Cole North might have more in common with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen than he cares to admit.

**Author's Note:**

> ((A/N: I wrote this with no idea of where it was going, and surprised myself! I actually like this ship a lot, as it turns out! I'll probably write more, perhaps set in the same universe as this one-shot, perhaps in a different one! Stay tuned!))


End file.
